Insatiable
by Telera1701
Summary: Insatiable: not satiable. Incapable of being satisfied or appeased". A William Birkin oneshot.


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Challenge fic from Yamiishot.

Title: "Insatiable"  
Key-Word: banana cream pie

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_Insatiable: not satiable. Incapable of being satisfied or appeased._

_They_ say that when you die you see your whole life all over again... who are _they_ anyway? _They _say so many things, but _they_ don't really have any idea of what _they_ are talking about. Did _they_ die and come back to tell you what it's like? No.

I am not seeing my life unwind in front of my eyes. Not in the way _they_ show it in the movies at least.

It's a strange thing how now that I'm starting to feel the numbness of death taking hold of my body, now that my surroundings are rapidly fading into an intdistinc blur, my mind is lingering around the most trivial matters. Why in the world should I care about what _they_ say or do? And why I can't help but regret that last year I've forgotten to buy Sherry's Christmas present? Odd worries, indeed. Especially since I, or better, Annie had made up for my mistake before our daughter even noticed her dad's gift was missing... but still, for no apparent cause, as I lie in a pool of my own blood, that one seems to be my only concern.

Curious. But then again, when was the last time I left my mind wonder over something that wasn't my work? There it goes to another pointless remark. There is no reason in reconsidering my life choices now. _They_ say it's never too late... unless you're dying. It is too late, it's too damn late to even tell Annie not to leave me alone. That woman, always hurrying after me! I only wanted her to hold my hand... but as I said: it is too late. Then why would I want to think further back? In fact I don't, it's just that I can't help it.

I'm probably loosing control over my mind – if I ever had any – and it's fight that I can't win. Technically speaking, I've already lost too much blood and with my injured lungs, oxygen is starting to run low in this outstanding brilliant brain of mine. The average human adult male has approximately five liters of blood circulating in his body. A blood loss up to 750ml involves a minor dizziness, while over 1.5 litres entails vertigos, weakness, anxiety, thirst and increased respiration. I've probably lost more than that and multiple shots have perforated my lungs... and yes, I would kill for a glass of water right now.... when I tried to speak, earlier, when Annette was here, I opened my mouth but all I've been able to do was to gurgle out some sticky crimson mixture of gore and saliva. Damn... I'm loosing track of my thoughts again. And why am I clinging obstinately to this meaningless medical knowledge instead of focusing on what is important?

But then again, what is important to someone whose life expectancy can be measured in terms of minutes? Is there something a man like me, with no future, should care about? _They_ probably have an answer even for this question... Family, probably. Or making peace with my demons. Or ask for the remission of sins... which coming to think about it are quite a big number. Honestly though – because when you're dying you can't help but being honest – I don't feel like asking for forgiveness. Not that I believe that my life has been pure and immaculate, but simply because I don't believe there's anyone there to forgive me. Besides, I'm fucking proud of what I've done.

Blathering blathering and blathering again. I think I'm starting to understand why I'm diverting from one useless topic to the other... In my whole life I never had enough time to wonder on frivolous matters, I guess it's some form of final attempt of compensating a lifetime of devotion to one sole thing, my work, my research to complete this beautiful, perfect creation.

It's still in my hands, I nearly forgot that I'm still holding it. They shot me but they couldn't take it awyay from me even then. Precious, beautiful, perfect G-Virus... The greatest achievement of a brilliant career. Long sleepless nights, relying only on caffeine and my iron will to keep going.

How many dead ends... How many times had I to start all over again?

It seems like yesterday when we discovered it inside the Woman's body, the very first time my newborn creation revealed itself by immunizing her from the NE-a parasite. It had absorbed, devoured all other mutagens, concealed itself in that grotesque specimen as if waiting for me to find it, synthesize it and make it perfect. I took it with me, built this sanctuary dedicated to it's greatness. But it wasn't enough, was it? Failure after failure, it wouldn't want to stabilize. It wouldn't even reproduce itself outside a host cell that didn't belong to the Woman.

Every time I thought I've made some progress, everytime I thought that maybe I could take a break, something would go wrong and take me back to square one. And when it became too frustrating, when it seemed there would be nowhere else to go and I was about to give up, suddenly, something amazing would happen to give me the strength that I needed to continue. And the years would pass, buried alive in the better equipped mausoleum of the world, writing history at the cost of my life.

Slowly I allowed my research to take me away from everything else. Replacing love for my dear ones with a possessive ever growing obsession for my precious G-Virus. Starting to put off the day I would make up for my faults as a father and husband in the name of a fa greater mission. And now I won't have another chance to miss. What was the last broken promise to my daughter? Oh yes, to go out for an ice-cream... no, it wasn't ice-cream... a pie, something that at the moment struck me as disgustingly sweet... a banana cream pie. Where on earth did Sherry get the taste for such junk? Not from me. That's for sure.

God, how many things have I missed? How many things that I could have enjoyed and I didn't because my mind was always prisoner of the charm of the G-Virus. It seems I've done it all wrong. If I had stayed at home last Christmas, if I hadn't chosen to go back to work on Sherry's birthday, if I had spent more nights in my own bed, with Annette, my Annie, if... but there's no point in having second thoughts on what's past. When the Hell did I become so sentimental? Fuck it!

There is one last thing for me to do, and it will be over. Fuck everything and all, I won't be going down like every Goddamn mortal, I'm much much more than this. It has taken all it could, and now I'll give it the very last breathe I've got.

The more I gave myself to the Project, the more it asked. This virus has taken everything from me, but even now, reviewing my choices, I'm certain that if for some miracle I was granted a second chance, I would make the same mistakes all over again. I believe that no one else can understand what it means to be subdued to its power. It's something that goes beyond personal achievements and fortune or fame. It's about being in the presence of the greatest pathogen of all, and as cruel and evil this deity is, I can't help but to be morbidly drawn to it. Even now. God only knows how much I love it.

Death-less remarkable Lisa, I'm starting to understand what it meant to be you... You never intended to become what you were, but in a way we're both slaves to the same power. I should have seen it then, in that gruesome patchwork of faces on your inhuman skull. I was too excited by the discovery to notice how clear a road was being drawn in front of me the moment I let it become the most important thing in my life.

Not even this. That bastard creation of mine won't leave me even the bliss of a regretful dreamless death, because it knows, it knows all too well that as long as I have one breath left, I cannot abandon it. If only they had stolen this last sample, too... they could have saved me from making the last mistake but no, adding insult to injury, they . And now I'm not even free to die. It wants me, it longs to flow in my veins and as I hold it in my hands I know I won't deny it..

My perfect monstrosity, gleaming of the life it has taken from me, of all the memories I could have had. Cursed be the day that I found it, for that is the moment it started to devour me, and now I know, it will never stop, incapable of being satisfied. Insatiable.

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Again, William Birkin's final moments. I know my writing sucks... may Birkin forgive me.


End file.
